


Advent

by jusrecht



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Romario did not begin with loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent

Contrary to popular belief, Romario did not begin with loyalty.

He had come into military service before the heir was born, had been dispatched to and wounded in a war twice over before the child could open his mouth and trip over his first word. He had buried a wife with a solemn Sicilian funeral when the small child, barely three, gave him a tremulous smile and held his father’s hand tightly, as if in fear of falling over a gravestone. Too blinded by grief, Romario noticed little other than the gleaming limestone which now bore his wife’s beautiful name, and the fleeting warmth of Don Cavallone’s hand on his rigid shoulder.

He did not think about the offer to join the Family business until three years later, beset by an increasingly pressing need for money after being unemployed for close to a year.

His first real memory of Dino Cavallone began in a sprawling garden behind the Family’s mansion. The boy was now seven years old, recently bereft of a mother, and his amber eyes stared intently as his father exchanged condolences and pleasantries with the stranger. His small hands clung to the edge of his chair, clearly unwilling to let go, until a stern-faced woman came and took him away.

Don Guillio Cavallone offered him a seat and a glass of wine. Romario accepted both but did not touch the latter.

“I’m happy that you came at last,” the Don said with a smile. He was a man with a kind, weather-beaten face, whose love was not reserved only for his Family, but also for all things that grew; the well-tended garden all around them was a veritable proof. 

Romario tried to return the smile, but only managed a crooked sort of imitation. The last three years of his life had been a bitter struggle, a war waged by his haunting loss against a straggling wish to cling to life. Marina’s death had been the beginning of his downfall, and there was little else he could do once the need to imbibe and forget had taken root. Disgrace followed as surely as a scab to an open wound and Romario soon found himself being forced to resign, firm politeness and subtle coercion all in one big, crushing package. The Army had no need of drunken men who could not use their heads, let alone shoot straight.

He had nowhere else to go, but to admit it out loud was more than what he could handle, after everything he had done to avoid this part of his root. To his relief, the Don made no mention of it.

“I’ve heard many praises of your feats in the Army,” Guillio said instead, taking care not to comment on the discharge, dishonourable or not.

Romario almost grimaced as the memory of nights spent in the dark basements of half-destroyed buildings, with the sounds of the world breaking all around him, rose inside his mind. Reality, once forced into such sharp focus, was a barren wasteland with no sound, no sight, only the most basic of sensations. To this day, he had not forgotten the demons of wars.

“I took no joy from them,” he said at last, his tongue heavy inside a suddenly dry mouth.

“I do hope not,” Guillio replied solemnly. “Death is in no way a frivolous matter. Unfortunately, sometimes it is unavoidable to deal with that part of our life.”

“But I would still like to avoid it if I can.”

The Don nodded, his face kindly. “Some ghosts are too strong. Indeed, I will always prefer your sentiment on the matter, if I have the choice.” He paused, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the white carved arm of the garden chair. “Well, Romario, what is your opinion of my son?”

Romario blinked at the non-sequitur, unsure of its intent. “My opinion?”

“You’ve seen him. Now what do you think of him?”

His mind drew a blank. Romario struggled to remember the son in question, to give name to the nothingness which constituted his entire opinion of Dino Cavallone. He was simply another boy, a stranger in the multitude of strangers who formed the collage of his life’s background.

“He seems to be a fine boy,” he answered at last, careful to the last degree. 

A sudden grin bloomed across Guillio’s face. “I admit the question is unfair, coming from me. But I asked it because I need a favour from you. How do you feel about using your skills for the protection of my son?”

It took Romario a few seconds to find his voice. “You mean, as a bodyguard?”

“Among others.” Guillio heaved a deep sigh and his eyes glanced at the direction where his son had disappeared. “He is still a child, so if possible, I’d like to have someone who is capable of protecting him, and at the same time is also fond of kids. Valeria is more than qualified for the former, but she is clearly uncomfortable working around him. To threaten or coerce is more in her line.” He paused, a helpless smile caressing his lined face. “I admit that my son can be handful at times, but he’s a good kid.”

“I’m sure,” Romario answered automatically. The gravity of the request only dawned on him by slow degrees, leaving his mouth dry and his mind reeling. True, he was fond of kids—how Don Cavallone could have obtained that small detail about his life was another question which answer he probably didn’t need to know—but to have such an enormous responsibility suddenly thrust upon him was overwhelming to say the least.

“He was the apple of his mother’s eyes,” Guillio spoke again, a trace of wistfulness in his voice, and for a split second, Romario recognised the same ghost which had carved loss onto his face. “She doted on him. Too much sometimes, I’m afraid. But the point is, I have to find someone I can trust to protect him.”

“And I inspire such trust?”

The incredulity in his voice brought a smile to the Don’s lips. “We shall see.”

“Even if I’m not a member of the Family?”

“You are a part of my family, Romario,” Guillio answered solemnly. “And I need you now.”

_Need_ was a word which implied weakness, used by lesser men—and this was a man broken, Romario suddenly realised, a man of desperate and dangerous circumstances. Determined as he had been not to be involved in the world of _Cosa Nostra_ , swirls of rumours concerning the Cavallone had nonetheless reached his ears—that the _Famiglia_ was mired in debts, that it had thus far survived solely on favours and connections, that it was fast losing its power and influence to newer, more aggressive Families.

And still he could not bring himself to voice the refusal which had been hovering at the tip of his tongue.

“Is he in any danger?” Romario heard himself ask instead. “I mean, in any immediate danger?”

“He is my only son,” Guillio pointed out with a hint of a smile. “At the moment, there is no specific danger to speak of, but with the Family’s current position, it may give some people ideas.”

“I see.” 

The smile became more pronounced. “This is a favour I ask of you, so please don’t feel obliged to accept. You’re young still and the world is a sea of options to a man with a set of skills as yours. All I ask is for you to think about my offer. A few days, perhaps, and then you can come for another visit once you have decided on an answer.”

Romario nodded numbly. He scarcely remembered shaking the Don’s hand and being dismissed from the garden, the latter especially in so smooth and courteous a manner that it could not possibly offend the most sensitive soul. He barely heard the sharp, jarring echo of his boots on polished marble floor as he traversed the great mansion toward the front door.

His pace only slowed when he glimpsed that uncommon colour out of the corner of his eyes. 

Once upon a time, there had been a beautiful woman with long, lustrous hair with the colour of a summer sun. This vague remembrance prompted a less pleasant successor, for with beauty always came its malicious sisters, the thorn-gilded rumours. From her outrageous extravagance and useless frivolities, to the ruinous extent of her female charms and supposed witcheries to her husband’s already declining Family, they spun around her person and created a myth of such fantastical quality that it could not possibly be anything but that—a myth.

Through an open doorway, Romario watched the son of that woman sitting behind a desk which easily dwarfed his size, eyes intent on an assortment of toy soldiers arranged haphazardly across a chessboard. The colour of his hair stood out even in the gloom of the mansion, as if determined not to be overwhelmed by its grim surroundings. 

The sight was a lonely one—or at least it was the reason Romario provided to himself, when he found his feet crossing the threshold into the room.

At the sound of his approach, Dino Cavallone looked up. Apprehension leaped into his eyes as timidity lent stiffness to his posture, and Romario was struck with how _normal_ the kid seemed. Perhaps he did expect something different from the heir of a mafia Family, after shunning the long, terrible reach of its shadows for nearly his entire life. Blood-smeared history and sinister ancestral roots notwithstanding, the boy looked just as any other boy.

A woman he had not noticed earlier stood in front of the curtained window. Romario perceived, after a careful glance, the stern lines of her face, the telltale budge on the left side of her hips, and realised that this must be the formidable ‘Valeria’ Don Cavallone had mentioned earlier. A cool, minute nod summed her entire acknowledgment toward his presence, and he took care to return it in kind. 

Her charge now had his undivided attention. This close, Dino Cavallone looked even less intimidating. Only his unblinking stare made Romario pause for a moment and wonder. 

“ _Buon giorno._ ”

The boy was the one who breached their silence. The smooth, pliant quality of his tenor startled Romario. He had expected a child’s voice, with all its whimsical crudeness and undetermined pitch—and this voice had neither.

“ _Buon giorno_ ,” he replied, careful enough to include a hint of a smile. “What are you playing?”

“A game,” Dino said matter-of-factly. A small hand unconsciously drifted to one corner of the chessboard, tracing the shape of a miniature musketeer. Then he added, almost sadly, “I think it’s fun, but nobody wants to learn.”

“Then it’s their loss.” 

It earned him a wide-eyed stare from the boy. “Do you think so?”

“Absolutely.”

His sincere answer elicited not even a flicker of a smile. Dino continued to regard him with a solemn, almost sceptical expression. Romario could feel his resolution to refuse Don Cavallone’s request waver. That the boy in question was nowhere near normal was now painfully evident—and for some unidentifiable reasons, he was inclined to help.

“Everyone keeps saying that the rules are too complex,” Dino spoke again, eyes challenging him. “I have endeavoured to simplify every part of the system, but one cannot have a Roman legion and a Russian Cossack on the same board and then apply to both the same characteristics in term of movement and destructive capabilities. It removes the element of diversity—and is simply not logical.”

Romario blinked as the intricacies of the speech left a trail of deafening silence in the room. The word ‘normal’ edged firmly away from his mind.

“I’m not afraid to try,” he declared, almost involuntarily.

Dino appraised him in silence for a long moment. Romario waited, ridiculously anxious despite the fact that the gaze he was now subjected to was considerably less alarming than its predecessors. There was perhaps even a glimmer of hope in it—if he was not simply deluding himself.

“Valeria says that I’m the only one who can play it,” Dino’s voice fell to a whisper and a glance was attributed to the woman in question, who still feigned obliviousness to the mention of her name.

Romario sank to one knee, now looking up at the boy. “Maybe it’s time to prove her wrong,” he said in the same conspiratorial tone.

“Then,” Dino paused, struggling with words, “will you play with me?”

It was that soft, tremulous question which made his answer. Romario swallowed, feeling each letter tremble on the plane of his tongue.

“Yes.”

His loyalty began with that word.

 

**_End_   
**


End file.
